Moments in Time: A collection of flash fictions
by Bug Evans
Summary: A collection of flash fictions centered around John and Joss. Nonlinear. I will post four flash fictions per chapters. Feel free to leave me some prompts. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

I. Morning

"Morning, Detective." He whispered in her ear, his fingers lightly brushing her skin. With expertise, like a sailor who knows the sea, he let his fingertips trail down her bare shoulder, the curve of her breast, down her taut stomach and along her thigh. The low sigh of appreciation she'd made let him know she was awake.

"No, not until I've had my morning coffee," she whimpered sleepily as she snuggled closer to him. He kissed her neck then her shoulder drawing a smile from her. He'd won this time, she wasn't going to ask for five more minutes of dreamless sleep. She'd busied herself with another task, anyway.

In the end he wasn't so sure he'd won. She did get her five more minutes in bed, enough time for her to come down from the high of her climax while he was taking a shower. When she came down to the kitchen, a plate of omelette was waiting for her while the coffee maker finished brewing. Joss sat down to eat before checking the time.

"I'm gonna be late."

John pulled out her traveling mug, filling it with the dark brew before adding cream. "You can take it with you," he kissed her, a sweet kiss—the kind only lovers shared—as he handed her the mug. She took it from him and ran out the door, leaving John in her kitchen, her jasmine perfume lingering in the air for only company.

* * *

II. Addicted

She had never done drugs. Her strongest addiction had been coffee. An addiction she developed during her years in college when staying awake by any means was vital. She had cheated Death in the past, she had felt incredibly lucky and blessed to be alive on more than one occasion. She thanked God for her lucky star everyday, and later when John came into her life, she thanked Him for her guardian angel.

This time, however, was different. She almost died saving him. After the moment they'd shared in the morgue, after all the unspoken feelings had been partially shared in one simple gesture, she consciously decided that she'd give up her life for him. Even when she knew how bad it would break him. When he asked her why she did it, her answer had been an echo of the words he'd spoken in the DOD facility all those months ago, "You would have done the same thing." And he would have, not knowing how bad it would break her.

She had never done drugs. Her strongest addiction was him. An addiction she developed after cheating Death, yet again, when the need to feel alive was vital. God, did he make her feel alive! She'd fallen in love before but she wasn't sure what to call this. 'Love' seemed unworthy, weak, almost insulting to how she felt and what they had. It ran deeper than love.

It took its roots in their souls, bloomed in the midst of shattered pieces of hearts that weren't meant to beat again; not because, or for, another person. It was strong. Strong enough to bind their broken pieces together, somehow making them fit and complete each other. She had no understanding of what it was exactly but it was here and love didn't even begin to cover it.

* * *

III. Your Eyes

"Your eyes," he answered without a hint of hesitation as if he'd carefully thought about it before, knowing one day she would ask.

"My eyes?" She echoed, surprised and almost disappointed. Not that she didn't like his answer she just expected something else. "My eyes are boring, John. Plain ol' brown eyes. How is this the feature you love most about me?"

She could say that about him. His eyes were a hypnotizing blue.

"They're not boring," he said with more vehemence than he meant to, before adding, more softly, "nothing about you is boring, Joss."

"So, my eyes...why?" She furrowed her brows still perplexed by his answer.

"Because you say a lot more with one look than you do with words. Because I just have to look at you to know how you feel. Because they didn't see me as damaged goods when I was at my lowest point. Because of that look you get when you look at Taylor or anyone else you love and care about."

"That also includes you, you know?" It was more of a statement than a question. She liked to remind him that he was loved not only by her but by Taylor, Finch and Fusco too.

"I know." He kissed her then, either to shut her up or to let her know he indeed knew. She wasn't sure. "How about I show you what else I love about you?"

He showed her. Slow, fast and slow again. On the couch, in his bed and in the shower. He showed her until she begged for mercy. He showed her because he loved her eyes but he loved her even more.

* * *

IV. Anniversary

John never considered himself a romantic man. He liked making nice gestures from time to time but never put too much thoughts into it. Nothing behind his actions had a particular meaning or were meant to achieve something. He just did them because he felt like it certainly not to impress. He'd never gifted an object that symbolized something to him and his other half. Until, two years ago he didn't own anything that was a symbol to him.

He and Joss both survived the war with HR. He didn't know how. He didn't care. Joss stunned him when she showed up at his door after booking Simmons. She hadn't said a word at first, opting for kissing him senseless. Then she slid the bullet he'd given her in his hand. He didn't know why she'd given it back but he knew he wanted her to have it.

Now here they were, a year later, about to celebrate their first anniversary. It only seemed fitting that after four years of holding on to it, he'd finally give it to her for good.

"Is that..." She trailed of looking at him wide eyed.

"Yes."

"I gave it back so you could get rid of it, John. You kept it all this time?" She was slightly angry. She thought now that he had her, really had her, he would get rid of the bullet he once was so desperate to put in his brain.

"Yes. I wanted you to have it." He got up and picked the bullet from the confine of its velvet box. Delicately he opened the clasp of the chain to put the necklace around her neck. "As long as I have you, I won't go back to the man I was, Joss."

The chain was long enough for the bullet to nestle between her breasts. Having it close to her heart was perfect. This bullet was a symbol of how far he'd come, how close he had been to give up. It was a symbol of how close he'd been to never meet her. He had it with him during all their missions, it was there as a silent witness to their ever growing feelings. He had it the many times he almost died at the hand of an enemy, although he wasn't willing or ready to go anymore. He had it the first time he kissed her, the first time they made love—it was in his pants' pocket which were discarded on the floor—the first time he said 'I love you'; it was always here, a silent reminder of who he was and who changed him.


	2. Chapter 2

V. Knowledge

There were few things John Reese could pride himself having an intimate knowledge of: weapons, torture techniques—how to inflects them as much as how to stand the pain from undergoing them—and Joss Carter's body.

He knew every dips and curves, every scars and marks. He knew what to do to make her squirm and what to say to make her blush. He knew just where to touch to elicit the softest sigh or the deepest moan. He knew where to kiss to leave her breath hitched in her throat in anticipation. He knew just where to touch to get her to arch her back or thrust her hips.

He knew it because he'd carefully observed her, studied and memorized. He knew it so well he mastered a routine, a perfect order to get her to climax. An order he knew by heart, like one would know their way back home. When he switched up his routine he committed the new path to memory so he knew how to make her chant his name because he never wanted to lose his way home again.

* * *

VI. Haven

Behind closed doors, in the intimacy of his loft, John wasn't the same man. Joss couldn't help but notice he was more open. He smiled genuine smiles that reached his eyes, not the polite smiles he usually served. He laughed too, full belly laughs, low rumble from deep within his throat or amused chuckles, he did them all. Joss realized he made an array of beautiful sounds she never heard him do outside the confine of his loft. He also talked. He gave her more than four word sentences with twice the number of syllables. He ranted about futile things, made comments about the stupidity of a character on whichever show they were watching. She usually sat back and watched him with amusement, a small smile on her lips. She also discovered he had a sweet tooth, which was beginning to become a problem for her. He fed her the most delicious and sugary things at unholy hours of the night. Cupcakes, brownies, cookies, French pastries and other sugar loaded desserts from countries she had never set foot in, but dreamed of in her sugar induced comas. She loved sweets, had a fondness for chocolate but until then she had been good with controlling her cravings. John didn't care. Diabetes would probably get him before the CIA.

Some times ago—neither of them could really say when—they decided his loft would be their safe haven. It was their own paradisiacal island in the middle of the sea of chaos that was their daily lives. Part of her couldn't help but to feel robbed because she couldn't enjoy this side of him when they were in the real world; the other part, however, wanted to protect what they created, what he was willing to share with her and what she was willing to give him in return.

* * *

VII. First Date

John leaned against the purple GTO, his arms crossed on his chest and his trademark smirk firmly in place. One of his favorite things was to rile up Joss, get her to give him that look she gave when she was annoyed with him and his antics. It was amusing to him and he knew she never stayed mad at him for too long. He watched as she made her way over to him while shaking her head. She circled the car before coming around to stop in front of him.

"Please, tell me it's not what I think it is." She glared at him.

"It's not what you think it is, Detective."

"John..." she sighed, "John how did you get this?" There was a pause during which John looked at her intently while shifting a little as if to ask if she really wanted to know. He would tell her if she really wanted the answer but he knew it would compromise their plan. "Wait, no, don't answer that."

"As you wish." He made a show of opening the car door on the passenger's side for her to climb in. She did but her mind was reeling, he more or less let her know it was a stolen car. As soon as he sat on the driver's side she resume her questioning.

"Okay, tell me how did you get it, John?" He turned towards her, pushed a strand of hair away from her face before leaning in and kissing her. It was a gentle kiss, a nice way to prepare her for what he was about to say and an insurance that she wouldn't get too mad at him. They had been together for quite some time now but never had the chance to go on a first date. When he released her lips she brushed her thumb on his lower lip to get the bit of lipstick off.

"Thought you didn't want to know?" He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Humor me, John," she whispered as she played with the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Two years ago. It was a loan." He said mischievous. "Care to go for a ride on the dark side, Detective?"

"Whatever, John." He'd taken the car when he was trying to protect her from Elias way before he recruited her on his team. She sensed he picked this car for a reason, he'd never driven it before and he chose their first date to do so. She couldn't be mad at him for trying to be romantic. She intended to enjoy her date, stolen car or not. Besides it's not like Hector Alvarez will need it since he was in jail.

* * *

VIII. Nighttime

Nighttime was the enemy. The dark crept in with stealth, uninvited and overwhelming. It was a silent threat with no weakness but the light—even then it was still hidden under furniture, at the corner of a street, in a shadow on a wall or in someone's heart—a bearer of poisonous gifts: thoughts, pain and regrets, all of which never failed to torment. It was ominous, vindictive and preposterous in the way it made you feel like you were drowning and choking at the same time. The light was nothing but a temporary reprieve, pushing the darkness to retreat in somber corners and, more often than not, inside his head. The thoughts became darker, the pain excruciating. The regrets of his past life clung to his mind always asking to be heard, deafening in their loudness and blinding with their intensity.

Sometimes he won the fight. Sometimes he lost, forcing him to stay awake in the dark, in silence, too afraid to move and wake up Joss. Too afraid to soil her with the darkness he felt soaked in, too afraid she'd drown in it. She was his lifeline, his lighthouse to guide him back on solid grounds. He was scared the storm raging inside him would break her.

Sometimes she was the one losing the fight. When she did, she sought comfort in him. She established shelter in his arms. She held onto him as if scared he'd disappear if she let go. Or maybe she was scared _she_ would disappear if she let go of him. He held on to her too, giving her the reassurance she needed. He held on to her tight for all the times he lost the fight and was too scared to hold on to her then.


End file.
